


we're all in this together

by abandonedquiche (chlorinetrifluoride)



Series: Under(grad)tale [9]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Gen, charasriel if you squint i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 11:32:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10990062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chlorinetrifluoride/pseuds/abandonedquiche
Summary: It's yet another fall semester. Your name is Chara, you're finally a senior in college, and Frisk is your roommate, now. You're actually kind of happy about this, if you want to admit it to yourself. However, their choices in music leave you running for your ex-roommate's room, mostly so you can complain about... pretty much everything. And, as it stands, Bobbi and Ragel are always amusing as hell.Except when Ragel's being an ass.





	we're all in this together

**Author's Note:**

> toldja i was writing crack after "for dead men, deadly wine"  
> takes place about nine months after "and the piano has been drinking"

You keep telling yourself that no longer having a single is a _good_ thing. That Frisk living with you is a _good_ thing. You won’t have to call Asriel or Bob when you have nightmares, and you can make sure the poor kid is _actually_ dressed for the weather.

It is a good thing, for the most part. You’re inclined to offer Frisk half the burrito you get from the convenience store.

Then, you walk into your room and there’s Frisk, who still hasn’t unpacked fully, gleefully building pyramids with all your medication bottles (and theirs). They’ve switched your Sunn O))) out for the High School Musical soundtrack. They don’t hear you come in, and they don’t hear you leave again. 

You sidestep a pile of garbage _(come the fuck on, it’s still move-in week, how the fuck even? You swear on everything you hold sacred - not much - that you hate Waterfall Quad)_ and walk down to Bob’s room. You pound on her door with your fist.

“Don’t open it, it’s Chara,” Ragel says.

“Fuck you too, Ragel!” you shout back.

Bob opens her door, and gives you the once over.

“Need help with anything?”

You throw your knife into the air and catch it. “I’m going to kill my roommate. The new one, I mean.”

“Any particular reason why?”

“They’re too happy. And their taste in music sucks.”

“Now that they’ve told you, you’re an accomplice, Bob,” Ragel says.

“I hope you’re being figurative in expressing your displeasure,” Bob tells you.

You idly think of telling her that you’re serious and watching her dawning horror, but she’s your friend and so forth. So you shake your head.

“They’re listening to High School Musical,” you say.

Even Ragel looks scandalized.

“Well, then,” Bob starts out. “Invite Asriel over. You know he can’t get enough of that kind of thing.”

You frown.

“He’s living off campus, now. Got himself an apartment and everything, after graduation.”

“Really?” Bob asks, surprised. “I thought he’d be living in the grad student dorms in New Home, all things considered.”

“Apparently not. Also, if he and Frisk end up singing along to Stick to The Status Quo, I’ll jump out the window.”

Bob snorts. “We’re on the second floor. You won’t get very far.”

“Maybe I’ll grow wings.”

You plop yourself down on Bob’s bed, ready to complain so much that you make Berger look like that guy who sells ice cream in the dining hall two buildings away.

“Gaster expects my entire group in lab tomorrow at 10 AM,” you whine, once you've made yourself sort of comfortable. It's hard with Ragel taking up 85% of the bed like he owns the place.

“Forgive me for not being surprised,” Bob says. “Isn’t that later than usual? He’s practically being nice.”

“It’s the first fucking week of classes!”

“This is why I didn’t major in the sciences,” Ragel says. “That, and Organic Chemistry.”

“Orgo wasn’t that bad,” you say. “It’s easy if you’re not a dumbass.

Ragel gazes at you like you’ve wounded him. You almost apologize - you’re not good at this ‘friends who are mean to each other’ thing, except with Sans, maybe - and then you remember he’s probably fucking around.

As if to confirm your suspicions, he says, “to this day, I have bad dreams about cyclohexane conformations.”

You grin. 

You missed these guys.

“So, where’d all the garbage come from?” you ask the pair of them. "You can't tell me it's come back this fast."

Bob shrugs.

“I have a theory that garbage just generates in this building,” Ragel says. “Maybe as a sacrifice to some kind of deity.”

You and Bob exchange glances.

He’s stoned, most likely.

“What kind of deity would demand sacrifices of garbage?” Bob asks.

“Sans?” you try, thinking of the oddly self-sustaining tornado of trash in his apartment.

You’ve been staying with him during the summers and the winters, ever since you got discharged from the hospital last July. All in the name of avoiding going home. And avoiding paying for student housing when you didn’t have to. You keep his apartment relatively clean, but you’re not getting anywhere near that tornado.

You think you’ll move in with Asriel next semester, and take Frisk with you. He’s neat and exacting. While his apartment's a little far, you can drive, so that part definitely won't be a problem. You'll ask him about it when you see him tomorrow. Somehow, you don't think he'll mind in the least.

You think of the locket around your neck, touch the pendant, remember the thing he told you last night, and fight the urge to smile. But your cheeks flush and give you away.

"Hey, Chara, are you blushing?" Ragel asks. "I remember where you went, yesterday. Is it about As--"

"No!"

Bob puts her hands on her hips, and decides to rescue you. 

“Since when is Sans a god?” she asks.

You gaze at her gratefully.

“He was our lab instructor for Orgo,” Ragel says. “Probably as close as you can get to being a god in college, assuming you’re a science major.”

“There’s probably a shrine to him in the basement,” you joke. “Full of liquor bottles, potato chip bags, and socks. And entreaties from students begging him not to dunk on them or tank their GPA.”

“Whatever you two say,” Bob replies, managing to not roll her eyes.

Meanwhile, Ragel’s still taking up most of the space on this bed. You kick him to indicate that he should move over. He shakes his head at you.

“Can’t move. Currently trapped here by my inner torment and my hyphae.”

"You’re couchlocked, is what you are,” you tell him.

“Yeah, and that.”

“Better couchlock than doing the mushroom dance,” Bob says.

You nod, laughing, and agreeing. 

Oh yeah, you've missed them, for sure.


End file.
